


Guardian of the Seven Heavens

by HelixDraxzonyx



Category: No Fandom
Genre: Drama, Gen, Magic, Politics, Steampunk, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 10:54:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11988342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelixDraxzonyx/pseuds/HelixDraxzonyx
Summary: Two hundred years have passed since the Humans living in cities in the sky, and the Magicians living somewhere beneath it, fought a terrible and bloody war that spanned three centuries. Millions of lives were lost, and at the end of it all; the Magicians were defeated. They signed the Armistice Accords, vowing never to declare war again. Two centuries have passed, and the Magicians seem to be holding true to their word, and yet old prejudices remain. Very little has changed since the end of the War, and mankind has let its defences become lax. Is the war really over? For Barrett Inari; the Hero of the War and so-called Guardian of the Seven Heavens, this seems highly unlikely. When he receives word of a Magic warship behaving inexplicably, his instincts tell him that a new war is coming. Things however, will not play out the same way twice. The Magicians have changed a lot, the Humans have not. Only Barrett, and those like him, will stand a chance in battle, but will they be allowed to fight? Will mankind's own hubris and misplaced fears be its downfall? Only time will tell.





	1. The Silver Lining Dulls

_I once read this dusty old book which said that, a real long time ago, way before the Alchemy Wars even; that there used to be something called “land.” Apparently, people used to live on this “land” thing. Like, billions of people. It said that they could grow enough food to feed everyone, and the livestock as well, and enough to even feed wild animals too. The book also said that there was abundant water on the land, in huge “rock” buckets and “mud” pipes, that even more water separated the “land” into “countries", and even that water fell from the sky. To me, that all sounds like an avalanche of shit. Even the Elders say that Mankind has always lived in the sky. There's nothing below the sky except for the Underworld. Fly too low, and you hit the Miasma Layer. You can't see through that shit, and you can't breathe it in either. It'll kill you in seconds that's how nasty it is. Sound doesn't exist in that smog, so you can't hear your intakes clogging up. Even if you take a breathing tank, there's still two ways in particular to die. You can't see, so you can't avoid crashing into a Death Cloud. That's assuming you can even survive the heat long enough to collide with those things. Temperatures in the Miasma Layer are typically five times higher than you'd find in a Primary Generator. It's hot enough for a Rapier-class Fighter's fuel lines to ignite. Even_ that _isn't the hottest you can find down there. Fly into Demon Breath, and you're gone. Even a Bardiche-class Corvette will liquidate in seconds. I saw a lot of that during the Wars._

_Anyways, back to what this book was saying. So apparently all of Mankind lived on this “land” stuff for thousands and thousands of years, building huge cities for us all to live in harmoniously, like some kind of paradise. Thing is, we were producing an awful lot of pollution. It filled the skies, poisoned the water, suffocated the “land.” Stuff like that. Eventually, the world became too toxic, and we had to move into the sky. We developed a way to lift our cities off the “land” and above all the pollution. Some Humans, however, chose to remain behind, on the land where they were born. Despite all of the shit that was poisoning everything, these Humans refused to abandon their homes. Most people would call this a steaming pile of shit, and once upon a time; I would have agreed. During the Alchemy Wars though, I started to question that._

_I fought against the Magicians. I captured many of them alive. Hell, I even interrogated a bunch of those sons-of-bitches. They all said the same thing: That we poisoned their home. That we were_ still _poisoning their home, and that the Seven Heavens must be destroyed in order to end that pollution. During the Wars, I used to think “Even if that's true, why resort to genocide? Why wage centuries of warfare, killing millions of innocent women and children in the process, instead of finding a diplomatic solution?” That mindset helped me to survive, but it's been two hundred years since the Alchemy Wars came to an end. We beat the Magicians, and an armistice was called into effect, but I can't help but wonder: What if I was wrong? What if the Magicians were doing the right thing, and I was fighting for the bad guys? Two hundred years, and I still can't answer those questions._

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Year 3114 PA. Spring Cycle One, Day One. 10:03 UST  
Seventh Heaven, Cloud Nine. Kurosaki University.**

A sea of students sit crammed into the auditorium, all staring at the central podium with rapt attention. The vast majority of this three hundred-strong crowd wear boiler suits in various shades of grey and tan, all tied off at the waist to reveal similarly coloured plaid shirts. A handful of students wear black dungarees over pale blue shirts, with black armbands on their left biceps. These few students have one other difference to the majority: they are not Human. While they _do_ appear Human for the most part, the animalistic ears and tails stand out as evidence to the contrary. Standing behind the podium, observing the gathering of youths; is a tall, middle-aged man dressed in a tan shirt and dark brown trousers. His polished black cowboy boots feature an arrangement of silver gears that turn silently, while small puffs of steam periodically spurt from the heels. His studded black belt likewise features a small arrangement of brass gears, and similarly also emits steam in occasional minute puffs. The man wears a tan Stetson as well, once again bearing gears, both silver and brass, also producing steam. The man's ears are mostly hidden by his chestnut hair, while his lime green eyes are left free of obstruction. Faint crow's feet are the only indicator of his age being greater than that of the students. He rubs his stubbled chin, his right hand brushing against a set of studded brass goggles hanging around his neck, before addressing the students.

“Alright then looks like everyone's here now, so let's get the ball rolling. For all our newcomers: I am Professor Colt Foxworth, and I welcome you to Alchemical Studies. For all our returnees: welcome back. I'm going to begin with a little retrospective, so shut your face-holes returnees. First: can anyone tell me why our cities are referred to as Clouds?” Most of the youngest faces look completely clueless, but one confident girl with white cat ears raises her hand. Professor Foxworth nods to her, granting permission to answer.

“It's because of the Keldron Gas. First Reactors, which power the Ascension Fields, emit Keldron Gas, which looks like white vapour. Keldron is heavier than air, but it also clings to the Ascension Fields. The gas builds up, forming a smooth, cloud-like structure below each city.” The professor nods.

“Correct. Keldron Gas is, as you have said, heavier than air, which is why it doesn't accumulate above the lowest street levels. It sinks, before adhering to the Ascension Fields. Keldron is a harmless waste product, although not pleasant to breathe in. Very cold, for a start, and smells not unlike pus, but far more potent. Nevertheless, it's a useful by-product, particularly in Alchemy. So, due to this cloud-like accumulation, our cities are referred to as Clouds. Not very creative, but hey; what the fuck, right? You should all know that a collection of Clouds is referred to as a Heaven. Seven Heavens, each one devoted to a different religion. Right now you are all sat upon Cloud Nine of the Seventh Heaven, dedicated to Shinto. So, I suppose you're wondering why we're even talking about this. As I said, this is a retrospective. It's important to know where Alchemy came from in order to understand why it's still relevant even two centuries after the Alchemy Wars, and to understand how it will play a major role not just in your lives, but in the lives of your children, your children's children, and in the countless generations yet to come. Alchemy is, put simply, the reason why the Seven Heavens still exist today. Alchemy allowed for the creation of Anti-Magic weapons which in turn allowed our soldiers to defeat the Magicians and bring about the Armistice. Keldron Gas and Liquid Shalin; which is a corrosive by-product of Second Reactors, Fourth Reactors and Water Purification tanks; these two substances are the most important materials in Alchemy. They allowed our Alchemists to turn Lead and Iron into Gold, which is essential for Anti-Magic technology. Until we developed such technology, we were practically at the mercy of Magicians, suffering devastating losses with each assault. Make no mistake, it is because of Alchemy that we are all alive today.” The girl with white cat ears speaks again.

“I thought it was because of Sky Marshal Inari that we survived. He was the only person in the known world who could gun down Magic fighters with conventional weapons, in an Estoc-class Civil Defence Fighter no less.” Most of the students nod in agreement with this. Professor Foxworth sighs wearily.

“Though it would be all-too-easy for me to contradict and even disprove your statement, such discussions are best left to Strategic Intelligence Studies, or else to a Debating Club. While it _is_ true that Barrett Inari was capable of taking down Magicians with conventional weaponry, ultimately he would have eventually been killed without the aid of Anti-Magic technology. Now, if you're finished trying to deify a mortal soldier, I'd like to return our attention to Alchemy.” The girl makes no further comments, though she does stare intensely at Colt. He ignores this, and resumes with his lecture. 

“Right then. So we know that Alchemy rose to prominence after its discovery during the Alchemy Wars with the sole focus being the development of Anti-Magic technology. Since then however, Alchemy has branched out into a vast number of fields with the aim of improving the quality of life within the Seven Heavens. Except of course for Third Heaven, wherein Alchemy is still considered a sin. The other Heavens relaxed their anathema on Alchemy, but Third Heaven has not. That's a discussion best left for Theological Studies though, so I'll skip around it. Just about everywhere you look, especially in Seventh Heaven, you can see an example of Alchemy at work. Whether it's the Hoshi lights that convert Nitrogen into the electricity that then powers them, the Shintetsu construction frames possessing two-hundred and fifty times the strength and durability of Carbon Steel at one tenth of the weight, or the Seimizu used to filter and purify our water supplies while providing the added benefit of improving our longevity by eighty-three percent. Even the stationary that you bring with you to class has been Alchemically modified to improve its performance and lifespan. These are all the sorts of things that you'll each be looking at in Alchemical Studies. From simple formulas and constructs all the way to Structural Fortification, Medical Application, and Heaven-wide Implementation. There's a lot to look at, limited only by your imagination. So try not to burn your brains out, okay people?”

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Year 3114 PA. Spring Cycle One, Day One. 13:40 UST**  
**Western Border of Third Heaven.**  
**Cirrus-class outpost designation Ci-452-X “Armistice Station”**

Metallic clanging accompanies each and every footstep as a man walks purposefully through the steel-clad corridor. The source of the clanging is a row of brass plates, shaped like flattened pyramids, that form a smooth ring at the bottom of each shoe, perfectly level with the soles. These brass plates are the only break in the man's otherwise pure black attire. From the pin-stripe trousers, pressed shirt and finely tailored jacket and waistcoat combination, all the way to his cotton socks and the frames of his slim rectangular glasses; all are matt black. His fastidiously manicured hair, moustache and beard are black. Even his irises are black, just like his black wolf ears and tail. As the man approaches a security desk, the guard stationed there looks up and smiles disarmingly.

“Afternoon Winch. So you drew the short straw this month then?” The man in black sighs dejectedly.

“I sure did. I was so close to having a year-long streak as well. Fuck me. Still, what about you? Being stationed here permanently must bore you to death, right?” The guard shrugs.

“It's quiet to be sure, but the pay's good so I can't complain. Besides, the folks round here tend to spend a lot of our down time staring out into the Empty Sky. We've been seeing a lot of irregularities in the Miasma Layer there lately.” Winch raises an eyebrow.

“Irregularities? How so?” The security guard thinks back.

“Well, it started about three weeks ago, but we occasionally see strange lights coming from the pockets of Demon Breath. Kinda looks like Aurora Borealis actually, only blue and purple instead of green. Then there's the change to the Miasma Layer itself. The smog down there writhes around like a nest of snakes once a week, before settling down again. Even when it settles though, the smog moves differently 'round here than it does anywhere else.” Winch frowns at this.

“That _is_ strange. Any idea what's causing it?” The guard shrugs again.

“Got no clue myself. Professor Amaterasu reckons that there's a decrease in temperature, which is causing the convection currents to freak out. He thinks that the lights we're seeing are the result of the Magicians clearing out the Demon Breath.” Winch rubs his chin.

“I see. That makes sense then. The Magicians _did_ say last year that they were planning on removing the Demon Breath. Not only is it causing them a lot of trouble, but it's also a sign of them honouring the Armistice. Demon Breath was one of their most reliable defences during the Wars after all, so removing it proves that they really want this Armistice to remain in place, that they really want to make peace with us. It would also explain the change to the convection currents. Demon Breath is hot enough to liquidate any vessel that flies into it. Removing that shit would cool down the Miasma Layer extensively.” The guard nods.

“Aye, that's the long and short of what the Professor said as well. He reckons the Miasma Layer might even clear up enough for us to see through it some day, and maybe even see their Clouds.” Winch looks distant.

“Interesting. We've never been able to see through the smog before. Not far anyway. No-one's seen their Clouds since the Wars either. We've always wondered how the Magicians' homes have been doing, but they've always been pretty evasive on the subject. Well, I'd better head on through. I'd like to review the notes one more time before the Excelsior arrives.” The guard nods again.

“Alright Winch. I'll let you know when the Excelsior shows up on radar.” Winch nods as a gilded door slides open silently.

“Thanks Trey.” The guard smiles to himself as he settles onto his stool. _Poor Winch. He's been dying for a one-year streak since before I was born. He doesn't have the best luck in the world_.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Winch takes a seat at the square steel table. The table, and the two steel chairs that sit at opposite ends of it, are the only permanent occupants of the white, circular room. A gilded door is set smoothly into either side of the room, their concavity designed to keep the room perfectly circular. Winch extracts a small notepad from inside his jacket, and begins flicking through the notes recorded from previous Armistice Summits. After reading about the formal proposal to combat Demon Breath, Winch comes across a list of questions that were written the day after the previous Summit. _Interesting. It looks like Steyr Hendrickson had some concerns that he either overlooked, or else was evaded on_. Winch reads through the list, a sense of curiosity and anxiety growing within him. _We recorded an unusual radar profile six weeks ago... actually I think I heard about that. For a brief moment, we picked up what looked like a modified Samurai-class Battleship. It was only for a second, then it entered Demon Breath and vanished. The Magicians said they were testing a prototype airship to eradicate Demon Breath, but it looks like Steyr had doubts about it. I guess he'd been studying the radar profile and spotted something that caught his attention. What else is there... unexplained weather phenomena sighted in the Empty Sky? I never heard about that, but it doesn't sound very important. I wonder why Steyr thinks otherwise then? It's strange. Wait... he's mentioned the change in convection currents, and a decrease in Demon Breath... eight weeks ago?!_ Eight _weeks... but Trey said it started_ three _weeks ago. Who is wrong here? I'll need to find out ASAP. If the Magicians began messing around with Demon Breath_ before _their proposal; that would constitute a breach of the Armistice. The Magicians would face full-scale investigations as well as a diplomatic tribunal. Breaching the Armistice would likely be seen as an act of war. They can't want that, surely_. Winch jolts at the next question. _What the fuck? The Magicians are suffering from a widespread sickness? No-one informed me of this! An epidemic would have been made common knowledge, they should have been receiving aid and-... wait, what? They_ refused _our help? Why? That doesn't make any sense!_ Winch looks up, and the clock to his left catches his eye. It takes him a few seconds to realise why it caught his attention. _Ten past two... wait... ten_ past _two? That can't be right. Is the clock running fast?_ He extracts his pocket watch, and sees the minute hand tick over. _14:11... that's impossible! The Magicians are_ never _late._ Ever _. They always show up on time, down to the hundredth of a second, so how can they be eleven minutes late? Just what the Hell is going on here?_

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Year 3114 PA. Spring Cycle One, Day One. 14:20 UST  
Seventh Heaven, Cloud Nine. Kurosaki University**

The auditorium becomes filled with the thunder of hundreds of students marching out, countless conversations overlapping one another as the students leave the lecture. It takes a full three minutes for the auditorium to fall silent again, as Professor Foxworth is left alone with the white-eared girl, who sits with her feet up on the chair in front of her.

“Looks like we've got a poor bunch of newcomers this year. None of them know the basics at all. It's as if their parents have stopped caring about Alchemy.” Colt shrugs as he sits down before the podium, leaning up against it. He taps his hat, belt and boots, causing all of the gears to stop turning. As he sweeps off his Stetson, his body undergoes some major changes. His hair rapidly brightens to become just as white as the girl's ears and tail, and styled quite wildly. His face becomes more youthful, particularly in the eyes, which turn vivid azure in colour. White fox ears stand up, twitching occasionally, while five glorious fox tails fan out behind the man, waving and sweeping constantly. 

“To be expected. It's been two centuries since we've legitimately _needed_ Alchemy. Technically we can get by without it, but why settle for getting by when you can thrive? Most people don't care about that any more. They're more interested in fame and prestige. Still, I'm surprised you didn't give yourself away with that stunt, Wing Commander. Half the returnees have ended up forgetting the basics about Keldron Gas over the holidays, and of course the newcomers don't know anything. Trying to pass yourself off as a student with _that_ charade? Your subtlety is still lacking I see. I was hoping that two centuries would be long enough to fix that, but apparently not.” The girl shrugs nonchalantly, with a playful smile.

“You know me, Cap.” The professor's eyes narrow. _That's right, I do. All too well. Wing Commander Sako Susanō, though the rank is a recent development. Back in the day, she was just a hot-shot pilot who couldn't even make it past Ensign with her behaviour, or her personality. Still, she's always been one of Seventh Heaven's greatest warriors, and to this day she's the only Sabre pilot who can keep up with me. She's still got a lot to learn though. Two centuries, and she still lives entirely in the present. The past is ancient history to her, utterly boring and not worth knowing about, while the future is a concept she just can't comprehend. Her improvisational skills, coupled with my protection, are the only reasons she survived the Alchemy Wars. Even then, I almost lost her in the assault on the Excalibur, and yet she lives her life as though that battle never took place. Her obliviousness might just be her greatest armour._ Colt sighs heavily.

“So, to what do I owe the horror of having you in my class? You already know everything I teach at this university, even the new materials I come up with. Are you here purely just to try and deify me, or is there another purpose?” Sako reluctantly stands, then leaps across the auditorium, landing lightly before the podium.

“Business-like as always I see. You could at least _try_ to lighten up. Anyway, there's something that I wanted to get your opinion on, something that troubles me. I tried to bring this up with Sky Marshal Amaterasu, but he waved it aside like it was nothing. My instincts disagree. Of course, if he found out I was bringing this to _you_ of all people, he'd skin me alive. 'A woman's intuition does not constitute a legitimate reason to harass a war hero.' Bullshit to that effect, basically. I honestly don't know how that old fart became the same rank as you when he has less intuition that a turd.” She extracts a manilla envelope from within her blouse, handing it over with a mischievous smile. The professor takes the envelope, and immediately notices the 'Classified' stamp. _Lax as ever Sako. Carrying around classified documents in her clothing? She's just asking to be court-marshalled. Though I can think of any number of personnel who would state that a flat chest is the best place to hide a flat envelope. Such is the sorry state of our military these days_. He opens the envelope, seeing a photograph of a radar profile.

“Hm. That's a Crusader-class Dreadnought. Based on the number and arrangement of the 120mm forward cannons, the double-row of hard-points on the swept wings, and the 80mm rear guns, I'd have to conclude that this is the Durandal. It always bugged me that I was unable to destroy it. So? What's up?” Sako gestures to the file that the photograph is attached to.

“Read the logs. You'll see why I'm here mentioned in the End-of-Day reports.” Colt shifts the image to one side, and reads through a set of report entries. _Standard watch log. They normally only make hourly reports. Most of the time, there's nothing worth commenting on. This time... something changed. Started at 2000 hours when an unknown object was recorded exiting the Empty Sky. Thirty centimetres in diameter... probably a probe of some kind. Eighteen minutes later, they catch the edge of a warship on radar, so a probe was sent_ into _the Empty Sky. At 2032 hours, the probe captured the radar profile I just looked at. The Dreadnought immediately changed course and flew-_ Colt recoils in shock.

“What the fuck? The Magicians flew their most powerful warship into Demon Breath? Why?” Sako shrugs.

“I was hoping that _you_ would tell _me_. This is what I wanted to get your opinion on. You know as well as I do that the Armistice was very nearly blocked when the Magicians refused to turn over the Durandal. We didn't like the fact that they were holding onto their Crusader-class, and their concerns about being attacked seemed exaggerated and unfounded. In the end, we conceded the point and allowed them to keep it. I mean, it's not like it would be difficult for us to take it down if we had to. So, the Magicians were allowed to hold onto their deadliest remaining vessel, and for two hundred years we never once saw even a glimpse of it on radar. Until now. We know the Magicians are looking to get rid of Demon Breath, but why involve Durandal with that? Why fly it _into_ Demon Breath? Something about this is setting off all my alarms, but Command just think I'm being paranoid. 'Given every ordeal that you had to face during the Wars, it's only natural that you would end up being a little jumpy.' They make it sound like Shell-shock, but-” Colt interjects, having heard enough.

“They're wrong. You're not paranoid, _they're_ just ignorant. There's not many Survivors left these days, but they'd all agree with you. We all know to trust your instincts. Command is almost entirely devoid of veterans these days. Down to four last time I checked. The others are too green, too young, and too foolhardy. Only Sumitomo Amaterasu has actually fought in the Wars, and like you said: his intuition is atrocious. You made the right call in bringing this to me.” Sako nods.

“So what do you think is _really_ happening here? Exactly how full of shit do my panties ought to be?” The Professor ignores the off-colour remark as he returns his attention to the documents.

“There is absolutely no way the Magicians would ever suicide the Durandal. Not after the effort they went through to keep the damn thing, it just wouldn't make any sense. If we consider the reaction the ship took upon detection, flying straight into Demon Breath the second it was scanned by the probe, you can see just how fishy all of this is. They want us to believe that the Durandal has been lost. I have two theories about what really happened to it. Either the Magicians have devised some means of protecting themselves even against Demon Breath, or else that wasn't really the Durandal. The latter is the simplest explanation, and therefore the most likely.” Sako raises an eyebrow.

“You think they constructed a duplicate?” Colt shakes his head.

“Not likely. That's an awful lot of materials to waste just to deceive us about a single ship. I think it's more likely to be an illusion. We've dealt with Illusory Magic in the past. We know they can use it to create tangible replicas. This is merely a scaled-up version of that spell. Shouldn't be too hard for them to accomplish really. They've had two hundred years to advance their Magic skills after all. The real question I want to know is why? Why go through the trouble of deceiving us about the loss of Durandal? Why fight so hard to hold onto that ship in the first place? What are the Magicians up to? There's something here that I'm missing; a piece of the puzzle that's stopping me from seeing the big picture. I can see bits and pieces, but not enough to make any sense. All I can do is listen to my instincts, same as you. Right now my instincts are telling me that we need to start preparing for the worst-case scenario. Immediately.” Sako recoils in shock.

“You can't be serious! You really think the Magicians will declare war?” Colt hesitates uncertainly.

“I don't know. It's possible. We know how tenacious they are. This wouldn't be the first time they've gone silent for a long time either. They were so determined to wipe us out, a part of me has always doubted how readily they surrendered. Sure, they lost the Excalibur, but they were far from defeated all the same. Was it really just because we have Anti-Magic technology? It's true that it allows us to fight on equal terms with them... but something still feels wrong about all of this. _Are_ we still on an equal footing? If the Durandal was really an illusion, then what other types of Magic have they strengthened? What if their weapons and defences have also been strengthened? Ours are still the same as they were two centuries ago. Then that would put us at a disadvantage all over again. At the same time though, I've grown stronger since the Alchemy Wars, and I know many others of our kind have too. Maybe we're still even after all. Regardless of all this, I think it would be best to prepare anyway. I'd rather be ready for the worst-case scenario and find I'm over-prepared for reality, than to have the worst-case scenario happen and be completely unprepared for it. So we'll play it safe, but keep it quiet too. If this gets out, it'll cause us no end of trouble. They'll accuse us of being paranoid warmongers and move to have us locked away. There's no guarantee it'd just be us either. You and I have something in common that Sky Marshall Amaterasu lacks. He's Human, and we're Therianthropes. It's possible that all of the Therians would be locked away 'for safety reasons.' They've done it once, and they'll do it again. They outnumber us five-hundred-to-one as well.” Sako looks saddened by this.

“You're probably right about that. I remember the Internment Camps, the discrimination, the cold-blooded murders. We all do. Even the ones who were born after the Wars have been taught about what it was like to be a Therian during those days. They kept us all on real short leashes. Literally, in many cases, including your own, and mine. It's mostly thanks to you that we're able to walk around freely today without having to hide our Therian features. You voluntarily became both a slave and a weapon for the Humans, putting your life on the line for them almost daily. You practically fought the Alchemy Wars all by yourself, which is why many Therians tend to deify you. It was only during the last twenty years or so that the Humans actually engaged the Magicians with a proper military. All of the Therianthropes owe you a debt that cannot be repaid, and yet not all that much has changed since the Wars, really. We have to wear different uniforms to Humans, in addition to these ugly identification bands on our arms.” Sako points at the thick black band on her left bicep before continuing.

“On top of that, we have to purchase our provisions with a different currency to Humans, at a different store, where we're required to provide a number of permits to prove who we are, prove that we're allowed to use money, and prove that we're allowed to shop. We live in segregated homes in a segregated part of each Cloud, with separate plumbing and utilities. We need permits to study, permits to work, permits to travel, permits to buy provisions, permits to reproduce, permits to have the right to a home. We even need to have a permit to live, one which we can't even apply for until we're eight years old. Until then, it's perfectly legal to kill us, consequence-free. Yet we don't have the right to self-defence, the right to fair trail by due process, the right to free speech. We have less rights than livestock, all in all. Despite everything we've done, and especially after everything you yourself have done; we're still considered an inferior species. We have minimal rights and freedoms, minimal privileges, and minimal access to necessities, let alone luxuries. The old prejudices still remain, though I'll admit the racism is less out in the open. It's still there though. It's been two hundred years, and almost nothing has changed at a significant level.” Professor Foxworth says nothing at first. _She's right of course. She always is about this sort of thing. That's why I conceal my Therianthropic nature. If the students were to find out what I am, regardless of_ who _I am, they would walk out of this class and never return. So I hide myself behind an Alchemical invention of my own devising, which I call the Gears of False Perception. The only reason why I was granted the right to teach Alchemy is because I know the most about it. I discovered and pioneered it after all. Even so, that won't last for much longer. Five years at best, but Alchemy's becoming a redundant subject. It's not because of the advancement of technology. Nor is it because people don't care. It's because they're afraid. Alchemy is seen as being too close to Magic. There is a lot about Alchemy that 'hard' science can't explain, so these things are falsely attributed to being Magical in nature. It's the same with the discrimination against Therianthropes. We are a relatively recent emergence. The first Therianthropes appeared within two decades of the start of the Alchemy Wars. Most believe that it was Magic that created us, fusing Human and animal traits together. What makes things worse is our Taboo, as the Humans call it, though we Therianthropes sometimes refer to it either as our Blessing or as our Nature. Whatever the name, they are paranormal abilities, for lack of a better description. Therein lies the problem. These abilities aren't normal, but they're not Magical in nature either. Endless tests have been conducted to determine this. Our Taboos are not affected by Anti-Magic technology, they don't require any form of spell-work to activate, and they are fuelled by our bodies rather than by Mana. Regardless, there have been numerous attempts to seal our Taboos away. Each attempt not only fails to seal the Taboo, but actually strengthens it as well. It's as if the Taboos are actively rebelling against Humans. Despite all evidence to the contrary, Taboos are seen as being Magical. This, coupled with the inability to seal them, is the main reason why Therians are feared and discriminated against. They can't control us, and attempting to destroy us would only lead to catastrophic losses for them. So, they took the only option left to them: slavery. I hate to admit it, but Therianthropes effectively_ are _slaves. We're forced to work for a pittance from childhood. We can only have just enough to barely survive, not to thrive. The last thing they'd want is a Therian population boom. When it comes to war as well, the Therians are all conscripted and sent into battle first. Our lives are expendable. We die so Humans don't have to. I wish we could be free, truly free, but I don't see that ever happening. Two hundred years has brought about negligible change. If we wait for the Humans, it will be thousands, if not tens of thousands more._ If _we wait for the Humans_. Colt rises to his feet as an idea begins to form in his mind, like a bud blooming into a flower.

“For now, we'll keep this between us and any officer we can trust. If Command won't act, _we_ will. Discreetly of course. We'll prepare defences, contingencies, and counter-attack strategies in the event of the worst-case scenario. I don't _think_ the Magicians will attack, but my instincts disagree, so I can't rule out the possibility. Old prejudices endure, and it's the same with Magicians. They actually _are_ Human, biologically speaking, so we can expect them to behave similarly to non-Magic Humans. The Seven Heavens are too busy fearing Therianthropes to worry about Magicians, so now is a dangerous time for us. Naïvety at it's finest in other words. See if you can get in touch with our counterparts in Second, Fourth and Sixth Heavens. They might not be aware of the situation yet, but they'll agree with our course of action.” Sako nods.

“I'm on it. How about you? What will you do?” Colt grimaces.

“Well... I really wasn't planning on it, but I guess I'll be attending the Armistice Banquet tonight.” Sako raises an eyebrow.

“Planning on calling in a few favours from High Society?” Professor Foxworth shakes his head.

“High Society can blow me. I can't depend on any favours from them anyway. No, the only reason I'm going to go there is because I know Air Commodore Young will be attending. He's our only ally in First Heaven, so I'm going to bring him up to speed on the situation. Unfortunately, there's nothing we can do about Third and Fifth Heavens. Third Heaven isn't especially Therian-friendly, and neither Heaven has an actual military due to their respective religious beliefs. Self Defence Forces aren't going to be of any real help to us. Another reason to attend is because there's always the chance I'll run into Wing Commander Roland.” Sako sneers in distaste.

“The Kamikaze Captain? That idiot's still alive?” Colt nods.

“Still alive, but he's changed a lot since the Armistice. Still quite crazy mind you, but two hundred years without combat has forced him to study. He's gotten pretty sharp in recent years, and he'll readily accept that the Magicians are planning a war. To be honest, it'd make him happy. Roland thrives on warfare, so this Armistice has been boring him to death. Regardless, he's got a lot of assets that we may end up needing. Chief amongst them is the Goliath.” Sako looks curious at this.

“The Goliath? Wasn't that the Phalanx-class Mobile Airfield? As I recall, it was the second largest MA ever constructed, dwarfed only by the Behemoth. How did he get his hands on _that_? More importantly: how has he been allowed to keep it?” Colt smirks mischievously.

“Easy; no-one knows he has it. No-one with the power or the reason to take it away from him at any rate. The Goliath was left to him by Air Commodore Charlemagne, with strict instructions to safeguard it 'for an emergency.' Well, you remember what _that_ old dog was like.” Sako stares darkly at the Professor.

“Yeah, I remember. It's kinda hard to forget about being woken up three hours before dawn every day by drunken howling and the sound of him dry-humping the water pipes. Still, when push came to shove he was one Hell of a warrior. It's thanks to him that the assault upon the Ascalon succeeded, though that battle nearly cost him his life. Well, I suppose technically it _did_. Three years ago, right?” Colt nods.

“That's right. Shrapnel from a 30mm was embedded in his spine during the Battle of Cloud Twenty-One. Surgeons couldn't remove it because it was too close to the artery. 197 years he had that stuck in him. Eventually it ruptured his artery though. Well, it was his own doing really. He was carrying around crates of whiskey when it happened. One awkward lift was all it took in the end. Well, he _did_ always say the only thing that was allowed to kill him was alcohol. He got what he wanted in that regard.” Sako nods, looking faintly bemused.

“Yeah, I remember now. So then the Goliath was left to Roland, and you're hoping to speak with him as soon as possible, which is easier said than done since no-one ever sees him Cloud-side. Alright then, I guess I'll leave everything in your capable hands. Still, it's a relief to know I'm not the only one who can see the wood for the trees.” Professor Foxworth smiles faintly.

“You're not, that's for sure. Funnily enough, it's mainly the Therians who will agree with you. Maybe a handful of Humans too, the more eccentric ones. People don't want war. I feel that way too, but the Humans take it to such an extreme level of naïvety that it now makes them ignorant to the truth. They want to avoid another conflict as much as possible, so much so that they'll do anything to avoid even _considering_ the slightest _possibility_ of a war. They'll turn a blind eye and a deaf ear to every piece of evidence we put forward to them, denying its very existence. It'll be up to us to cover the shortfalls of Humans, especially in the instinct department. If the worst-case scenario happens, life will become Hellish for us once more. You can guarantee a return to the Internment Camps will occur. It'll be a long time before Humans as a species join the fighting. Hell, it'll probably just be me alone to begin with, just like last time. Why send an army when they have the Guardian of the Seven Heavens? Simple-minded pricks. Things won't play out as simply as last time though. The Magicians know how heavily I was relied upon last time, so they'll be sure to keep me too busy to stop them this time around. Not to mention that politics and religion will hinder us at every turn. Third Heaven is liable to suffer substantial losses. They're very devout to their God, especially when it comes to 'Thou shalt not kill.' We can expect discrimination against Therianthropes to rise exponentially. There'll be lynchings, riots, and cold-blooded murders. Incidents like the Cloud Nineteen Mass Crucifixion will happen again, possibly several times over. Knowing all of this, and carrying the memories of the Wars, do you still want to stick with me? I won't blame you for backing out.” Sako clenches her fists resolutely.

“I'll stay with you through everything, and I'll follow you beyond the furthest horizon, Sky Marshal Inari.”

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Year 3114 PA. Spring Cycle One, Day One. 1653 UST  
Sixth Heaven, Cloud Thirty-Eight. Sinai Base.**

“That's the long and short of the situation. Sky Marshal Inari admits that it is unlikely the worst-case scenario will play out, but he cannot ignore his instincts. Nor I mine. As such, we're taking steps to prepare, as a safety measure.” A sandy haired male rubs his pointed chin as he mulls over these words, concern set in his deceptively youthful blue eyes.

“When it comes to your instincts, I've learned never to be in doubt. It is always safest to trust them. If you and Inari say it is so, then it is so. I believe I can get the ball rolling on my end. Our defence systems are due to be tested around about now anyway, so no-one will question me ordering munitions to be loaded, I just hope no-one notices that all available munitions are going to be brought in. I can get the fleets moving on patrols too, under the guise of training routines. The Shekinah is currently commanded by Group Captain Maxwell, my most promising Therian recruit, so you can certainly count on that ship to help out. I don't have as many 'furry-lovers' as I'd like under my command though, so try not to count on me too much. I'll do what I can, but I'm not in an ideal position for this kind of scenario.” Sako's voice comes through the radio headset.

“That's fine. It's better than I hoped for really. The Shekinah was a force to be reckoned with back in the day, and as Sixth Heaven's flagship; it's still one of the greatest ships in the sky. I've spoken to Vice Sky Marshal Tucker and Group Captain Suresh as well. They both agree that the Magicians are likely planning to fight a new war, and they've promised to take steps to prepare for the worst. I wish there was something we could do about Third and Fifth Heavens as well, but even if they were to believe me, there's nothing much that they can do. Their Defence Platforms and their Civil Defence Groups are all loaded with non-lethal weaponry. I don't even know if they have the ability to get through the Magicians' defences with those things. Somehow we'll have to try and cover them too, but I fear that we'll be stretching ourselves too thinly if we do that. Having the Goliath on our side could help, but even then we could be in serious trouble.” The male nods.

“Yeah, you're right about that. The Goliath is handy to have in the sky, but without the pilots to fly its squadrons, it's not going to amount to much more than a mobile Defence Platform. As much as I'd like to hope that Sky Marshal Amaterasu will release the Therians to Inari's command, I don't see that happening. Everyone will panic once again, and our furry friends are going to be locked up. Damn. If only there had been more Therian supporters during the Grand Election. If Inari had been voted as General of the Seven Heavens, we'd already be fully prepared to fend off a Magical assault. Unfortunately, Amaterasu got the position. Technically he and Inari are the same rank, but this additional appointment gives Amaterasu control over the armed forces of all Seven Heavens, as well as over the fate of the Therians. If Amaterasu finds out that we're acting without his instruction, he could order our fleets and our defence crews to stand down, or to do anything at all that would cripple our ability to respond to the Magicians. I don't think there's many in Sixth Heaven with the guts to disobey an order from the General of the Seven Heavens. A handful at best. If it comes down to that, this new war will be over before it even begins.” Sako is silent for a moment.

“Try not to worry about it too much, Air Commodore Goldstein. Barrett's already planning contingencies for just this sort of event. He's determined to make sure that the Magicians won't win. He's determined even more to make sure that the Humans don't hand the Magicians a victory through stupidity. If it comes to insurrection, the Therians as a species will form a united front in a heartbeat. Not even Amaterasu is stupid enough to take on all of us at once. What he forgets is that we allowed ourselves to be confined to the Internment Camps under Barrett's request. He wanted us to behave in order to put the Humans at ease, and to make it easier for him to show them we can be trusted. We suffered willingly because we trusted in Barrett's wisdom. He's our elected leader. If Barrett tells us to commit insurrection, we'll obey without question. I just hope it doesn't come down to something so drastic. We're supposed to be fighting against the Magicians. We can't afford to fight against the Humans as well. Barrett knows this as well, so you can be sure he'll be making as many fallback plans as possible to try and avoid that scenario. For now, focus on what lay before you. Focus on accomplishing the tasks that you have set out for yourself. If you pick up anything suspicious or worrying, anything that doesn't sit right with your instincts: report it to Barrett immediately. We need every piece of the puzzle we can get our hands on so that Barrett can see the big picture, find out just how fucked we are, and formulate the best strategy to defend and counter-attack.” Goldstein nods.

“I will. You have my word on that. Good luck Sako. May our Lord, blessed be His name, watch over us and protect us from the Magicians.”


	2. The Fall of the Armistice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Barrett Inari works frantically to prepare for a War he believes may be on the horizon, the Magicians make the first moves ahead of his predictions, aiming to end the war before it can even become as such. Can Barrett finish piecing together a defence in time to avert catastrophe?

**Year 3114 PA. Spring Cycle One, Day One. 1447 UST.**  
**Western border of Third Heaven.**  
**Cirrus-class outpost designation Ci-452-X “Armistice Station”**

Winch stares at the clock in disbelief. _1447? How is this possible? Even if there was some kind of difficulty with departure, they should have contacted us. The Excelsior's one of their oldest ships, so I wouldn't be surprised if there was a problem getting airborne, but even so they should have told us if they were going to be late. Trey hasn't informed me of this, which means he hasn't heard anything either. I need to speak to him though. He's my only source of information on this matter._ Winch stands and walks back to the door he entered through, pressing a circular green button set into the wall beside it. He walks out and turns to Trey, who looks deeply troubled.

“No word from the Magicians?” Trey shakes his head.

“Not a whisper. Not even static. Nothing's showing up on radar either, but Professor Amaterasu reported something strange: eight pockets of Demon Breath suddenly vanished. It was so fast, the only explanation can be Magic, but there's no ships in sight. He said the Miasma Layer might even clear up as a result.” Winch frowns.

“That _is_ strange. Demon Breath suddenly vanishing, and you're certain there's no ships? Contact the hangar; tell them I'm authorising a probe launch. We _have_ to see what's going on here.” Trey nods, and turns to his radio. He adjusts the frequency before speaking into the microphone.

“Hangar Control, this is Lieutenant Trey Wilson. Ambassador Winchester Kuromori is authorising the launch of an Extender Probe. Repeat: Ambassador Winchester Kuromori is authorising the launch of an Extender Probe, over.” The response is almost immediate.

“Lieutenant Wilson, this is Hangar Control. Ambassadorial authorisation received and acknowledged. Launching Extender in three... two... one.... Extender away, over.” Trey nods again.

“Copy that, over.” After acknowledging the launch, Trey turns to Winch.

“It'll take five minutes eighteen seconds for the Extender to depart from our radar range and begin its own radar sweeps. There's usually a fractional delay between the reports being sent and them being received. The results will be seen station-wide though, so we don't have to wait for Hangar Control to bounce it up here. We'll get answers, I just hope they're the answers we want.” Winch nods.

“That makes two of us. This is a completely unprecedented situation. The Magicians are never late, and they know all of the protocols they are expected to follow should that happen to change for any reason. There shouldn't be any need for us to send out a Radar Extender, but we _have_ to know what's going on. Failing to report a delay in attending an Armistice Summit would require an immediate full-scale investigation, and the Magicians would also be brought before a Military Tribunal as per the conditions of the Armistice. There _must_ be a reason for all of this, I just can't think what.” Winch falls silent as his troubled mind plays over one possibility. _There_ is _a reason, but one that I don't want to voice or even think about. Even so, the moment Trey mentioned a lack of static; my mind jumped straight to_ that _conclusion. We_ should _be hearing static. The fact that we're not means we're being jammed. Radio jamming prevents mayday calls, and it's an undeniable precursor to attack. But that_ can't _be it! Even if they still have Durandal, there's no way the Magicians would try to declare war again. They'd lose! They'd never be able to defeat Sky Marshal Inari. They'd lose, and this time we'd be forced to wipe them all out, for the greater good. I must be missing something, but what? I just-_ Winch's train of thoughts is derailed by Trey's shocked tone.

“What the fuck? It's gone!” Winch looks at Trey quizzically.

“What's gone?” Trey seems to be struggling with whatever it was he saw.

“The probe... it's vanished. No sign of collision, no debris, nothing. It just ceased to exist. It didn't have a chance to start broadcasting.” Suspicion and foreboding erupt within Winch's heart as he pieces the clues together.

“Red Alert! Prepare for an imminent attack!” Trey's hand hovers over the Red Alert siren, all colour draining from his face.

“Oh dear God, we're too late! I-It's the Excalibur!” Winch frowns as he practically throws himself into the security station.

“Impossible! The Excalibur was destroyed by Sky Marshal Inari! There's got to be-” He stops dead at the sight of the radar profile as it cruises into range, its slender form sailing gracefully through the sky. The vessel is twenty times larger than the Armistice Station, and shaped vaguely like a Great-sword. The profile shows no signs of weaponry, but Winch knows the details of the armaments off by heart. _Forty 200mm guns, seventy 180mm guns, eighty 150mm guns, fifty .50 calibre heavy machine guns, ten 7.62mm Gatling turrets, one hundred and sixty missile pods, thirty-two concealable hard-points, sixteen aerial torpedo tubes, and one Magic-powered Hellstorm Cannon capable of vaporising an entire Cloud with a single shot. The absolute pinnacle of the Paladin-class Super-Dreadnoughts: Excalibur. Those Demons rebuilt their deadliest weapon. Was this their plan all along, since the war ended? We should never have accepted their surrender._ Winch can only look on in horror as the vessel approaches the station head-on. His fear then amplifies as multiple vessels appear on radar behind Excalibur, flying in formation. Hundreds of warships, all heading towards the Armistice Station.

“Gods save us.” A blinding light erases the Armistice Station from Winch's view, robbing him of sight. Rushing wind and a falling sensation shocks him as the world drops out from beneath his feet. The light fades away and Winch's vision gradually returns, just in time to see Trey be sliced in two by debris. The charred remains of a square table strikes Winch's left shoulder, causing him to tumble madly though the air as he plummets. He catches brief glimpses of the armada as he spins, realising that there are in fact thousands of warships in all sizes, and that they are scattering in all directions. More ships rise up from the Miasma layer below. As the silver-hulled Durandal rises up from below the Armistice Station's former location, the Miasma Layer clears, creating a void in the fog roughly twenty kilometres across. Without that obstruction, Winch is able to see the source of the armada: a fleet of two hundred Mobile Airfields hovering above a canvas of oily blackness. Some of these Airfields dwarf the Excalibur, with the largest being one hundred times its size. A comparatively small warship rises up directly beneath Winch, its azure-tinted airframe glittering like a jewel against the velveteen void beneath it. _Legionnaire-class Heavy Cruiser. Balmung. May my body strike the dorsal missile rack with enough force to cripple it. That would be the first and only worthwhile thing I will have done with my life. I regret not studying Alchemy. Perhaps I could have done something useful with my life if I had._ The hull of the Balmung fills up the entirety of Winch's vision for a second, before darkness consumes him.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Year 3114 PA. Spring Cycle One, Day One. 19:00 UST  
First Heaven, Cloud One. Isaiah Estate.**

A grand orchestra blooms into life, marking the beginning of a highly prestigious banquet. Marble statues and elegant ice sculptures, both depicting angelic maidens and magnificent mythical creatures, are dotted around the expansive garden, watching the proceedings like beautiful sentinels. Hundreds of glass globes hover in the air, shining with a pale golden light that provides ample illumination for the thousands of attendees. Despite the masterfully crafted décor, and the scores of dazzlingly attractive women in attendance; most eyes seem to be focused on one man. He wears a metallic bronze-coloured silk shirt under a black velvet waistcoat and tailcoat, coffee-coloured trousers, and polished black wing-tip shoes. A black stovepipe hat rests upon his head, his wild white hair standing out in stark contrast to his attire. A slit has been cut out of the rim of the hat on each side, allowing the man's white fox ears to poke through. Shimmering azure eyes shine out from behind a white and gold Kitsune half-mask. Twenty-one military medals decorate the left breast of the man's jacket, while an elegant gold-hilted Estoc rests against his left hip. Five pure-white fox tails fan out behind then man, waving dreamily. The man's left hand hovers close to the Estoc at all times. He wears a silver ring on his left middle finger, bearing a tiny ruby, emerald, sapphire, yellow zircon and obsidian at each point of a small gold star. The man holds a rosewood cane in his right hand, topped with a contrastingly simplistic brass knob. Runes have been carved into the cane, fairly recently judging by the lack of dulling of the exposed wood. Two rings are worn on the man's right hand; on his index and ring fingers. The ring on his index finger consists of two golden bands twisting over one another, while a diamond sits between each crossing. The other ring is brass, and quite wide. It spans most of the width between the last knuckles. The ring bears the the engraving of an eye with nine lines spread out equidistantly around it. A silver pendant hangs around the man's neck, depicting a pentagram with sapphires inside each point. The man checks the time on a silver and brass pocket watch, before sighing irritably. A smooth, oily voice slithers out from near the man's right elbow

“Oh, if it isn't _Sky Marshal_ Barrett _Inari_. Now this _is_ a _rare honour_. As I recall, it has been twenty-seven years since you last attended the Armistice Banquet. How _courteous_ of you to _grace_ us with your _divine_ presence.” The emphasis being placed upon the compliments and pleasantries carry a strong condescending tone, rife with thinly-veiled sarcasm. Barrett turns to face the speaker, seeing a man just as oily as his voice. Short and plump, the man looks almost like a blackcurrant, especially with the raised collar of his black shirt and jacket. His entire outfit is pure black, matching his short black hair slicked back in a futile attempt to conceal the sizeable bald patch. The only contrast to the grim attire is the man's pale skin, which seems to shimmer a little from the grease. A haze of pungent cigar smoke, rich whiskey and well-aged leather clings to the man. Barrett glares down at the man with disgust.

“I do not make a habit of coming to this distasteful shindig. It is a disgrace that we celebrate the forging of the Armistice with extravagance and excess, yet we ignore the sacrifices of those whose lives were lost in the process. Even those who sacrificed their lives to save people like you from being massacred by the Magicians, even _they_ are not mourned or respected. To dishonour the fallen that way is shameful, disrespectful, uncivilized, heartless, and utterly barbaric. I only attend if I know that someone who shares my views will also be in attendance. I see no reason to celebrate this Armistice when we fail to even acknowledge the blood that was spilled in order to create it.” The oily man waits for Barrett to finish with a bored expression, before responding in a flat voice.

“No good can come of mourning the dead. Celebrations such as this are intended to lift the spirits of the people. It tells them that all is well. Mourning the dead only depresses people, and risks breeding contempt that would endanger this peace.” Barrett growls at the man angrily.

“Peace? You seriously believe we're at peace? Ignorance, Chancellor Kensington. That's all it is. Anyone who believes that lie is better off not being alive. I will not live my life with my eyes closed as the elitists do. When this Armistice falls, and it will, you will all be shown the extent of your hubris. You had best pray that your God is merciful. The Magicians sure as Hell won't be. I know that better than most.” Kensington snaps irritably, responding on a reflex. 

“Ever the warmonger Inari. I would have thought spending nearly three centuries on the frontlines would make you weary of combat, yet you seem to hunger for it. Are all _mongrels_ like that? Do not forget that you represent them. Your actions will reflect upon them, and will impact upon their fate, which remains uncertain at best.” Barrett turns on Kensington furiously.

“Take that shit and ram it up your bloated arse. It is because I represent the Therianthropes that I surrendered my freedom and became a weapon under Human control. Can you even comprehend the consequences of that decision, of what exactly it entails? It was the only way to prove that we aren't allied with Magicians, nor that we're servants of them. I'm painfully well aware that their fate and their future lay entirely in my hands. And you're wrong. Three hundred years of warfare _has_ made me weary of it, but I will never let my guard down. I witnessed countless Magicians surrender, only to see them betray mercy with brutality. If you had seen even one tenth of things I saw, you would not be so quick to trust that this Armistice will hold indefinitely. Magicians have far greater patience than you or I, and have never hesitated to bide their time for years, waiting for our defences to become lax. Do not forget the Thirty Year Pause, or the massacre that followed. Do you even know how many were slaughtered in the Eighth Heaven Apocalypse? I do. I memorized every last victim's name. Do you have any idea how long it takes to recite the entire list of fatalities? If I were to start now, I'd finish naming them all in 157 years. That's just from one attack. To include the name of everyone killed in the Alchemy Wars would take me an additional eighty-three years. As the so-called Guardian of the Seven Heavens, it is my responsibility to honour those who have died in combat, be they military or civilian. I don't shirk my responsibilities. Not ever.” Chancellor Kensington looks to retort angrily, but he is silenced as an imposing shadow falls over him. An authoritative voice further deflates the man.

“Just cut the shit already, you pretentious slime-ball. You weren't even a pipe-dream in your great-great-grandfather's demented mind during the Wars. You have absolutely no right to speak to _any_ veteran that way, let alone to the man who destroyed the Excalibur, in an Estoc-class Civil Defence Fighter at that. Those things weren't even designed to take on Soldier-class one-man fighters, let alone the pinnacle of the Paladin-class Super-Dreadnoughts. Yet, Sky Marshal Inari succeeded in doing just that, though he almost lost his wing-girl in the process. How is Wing Commander Susanō anyway?” Barrett turns to the speaker, who stands concealed within the shadows, and responds calmly.

“I think the most accurate answer I can give to that is 'Sako is Sako.' It's actually a little worrying that I can sum her up so simply.” The imposing figure steps out into the light, revealing a man 213cm tall with a broad, muscular build. His head is shaved smooth, while a neatly trimmed white circle beard borders his mouth, standing out in stark contrast to his dark skin. He wears the pale blue overalls of an Air Force airman, but also bears the insignia of a Wing Commander. He smiles broadly at Barrett.

“That sounds like Sako alright. I see you're still the only one worrying about her.” Barrett nods.

“With good reason. Don't get me wrong, Sako is one of the most skilled pilots I've ever seen, and her instincts are flawless, but she's too reckless for her own good, and gives no thought to the future. The assault upon the Excalibur showed me just how fragile she really is. While everybody was celebrating victory, I was by her bedside, praying she'd pull through. A year later she leaves the hospital and gets utterly rat-arsed. Sako in a nutshell really.” Barrett's companion laughs raucously.

“Now that really _does_ sound like Sako. So then, what brings you to the Armistice Banquet?” A small sigh interrupts Barrett before he can answer. Both he and his companion glare at Chancellor Kensington with disdain; the man looking bored and irritated. Barrett's friend addresses the Chancellor.

“You're not welcome in this conversation, so you're free to fuck off at any time.” Kensington storms off, looking outraged. Once he has departed from sight, Barrett turns back to his acquaintance. 

“Good riddance. Anyway, I wasn't initially planning to attend, but events have taken an unexpected turn. I know that Young will be here, somewhere. I need to speak to him, but I also came because I was hoping to run into you as well, Wing Commander Roland. I need to speak to _both_ of you, really.” Roland looks at Barrett with a degree of concern.

“That sounds ominous. You know I'll always help you out if I can. After everything you did, it'd be wrong of me not to.” Barrett is silent for a moment as the pair walk together, putting some distance between themselves and the festivities. Barrett ensures they are out of ear-shot before speaking again.

“That's why I wanted to tell you about this. You're one of the few Humans I trust, and one of the few who was genuinely grateful for everything my people and I did during the Wars.” Barrett pauses to collect his thoughts.

“Sako has alerted me to a very suspicious development. A Nimbus-class outpost in Second Heaven reported seeing the Durandal on a standard sweep. They sent out an Extender to confirm this sighting. Upon detection by the Extender, the Durandal flew without hesitation into a pocket of Demon Breath. For the Magicians to intentionally suicide their most powerful remaining ship is just too suspicious. I believe, and Sako agrees with me, that this wasn't actually the Durandal, but rather a scaled-up example of Illusion Magic. Looking at the information I had to hand, it is my belief, and here Sako prays I'm wrong; that the Magicians are preparing to abandon the Armistice.” Roland raises an eyebrow.

“You believe the Magicians mean to instigate a new war? By what means? The Durandal is not enough to secure their victory. You know this.” Barrett nods.

“I do. Of course I do, but at the same time I cannot ignore my instincts. The Magicians are definitely up to something. They want us to believe that the Durandal has been destroyed so that we'll relax our defences. Ours are already low as it is. We haven't been this vulnerable since the Eighth Heaven Apocalypse. I admit, I don't know what the Magicians are planning exactly, but my instincts tell me that they _are_ planning to abandon the Armistice. I know I don't have any supporting evidence, but I can't shake this feeling either.” Roland is silent for a moment.

“Maybe you don't have any evidence, but that's never stopped you from being right before. You predicted the end of the Thirty Year Pause without any evidence whatsoever. Your instincts thwarted the Excalibur on no fewer than eighty-six occasions, and ended the Siege of First Heaven with minimal losses. If you say the Magicians will abandon the Armistice, then that's exactly what they'll do. I wish it were otherwise, but only a fool of the highest calibre would distrust your instincts. Whatever you need from myself and from the Goliath, you will have it. I give you my word.” Barrett smiles, looking relieved.

“Thank you. It's good to hear that, though I worry you may come to regret it. You're one of the only allies we Therians have, so we're guaranteed to lean on you for support, quite heavily I fear. When war breaks out, things will invariably play out like last time, on the Human end of things anyway. I will be sent out to fight the Magicians alone, while the other Therians will be contained and monitored. This cannot happen again. The Magicians know this pattern. If they realise that I'm their only opponent, they'll send a sizeable fleet to engage me and distract me, while the rest of their armada wages war. I cannot protect the Seven Heavens by myself, but that's exactly what is expected of me. I need the Therians ready to assist me at all times, and able to launch at a moment's notice. The Goliath is the only Mobile Airfield in service large enough to carry the entire Therian population, and the only one that carries a full compliment of fighters kept in flight-ready condition. This new war won't play out exactly the same way as last time. In the worst case scenario, the Therians will need to seek sanctuary aboard the Goliath. There's the very real chance that you'll be deemed traitors, and that we'll end up being seen as enemies by both sides. Are you still sure you want to help us?” Roland nods resolutely.

“Of course. I've never been agreeable with the way Therians were treated during the Wars, or how they're still treated even now. The Therians are entirely responsible for the Humans surviving the Wars, and earning victory for us, yet we continue to treat them as slaves. We revere them for their combat prowess and impeccable instincts, yet we fear their Taboos and treat them with hostility. Now that to me is the most hypocritical shit of all fucking time. We fear their Taboos, and yet we treat them so poorly that it's an honest-to-God miracle that one hasn't been provoked into attacking us Humans yet. You guys have some serious self-control, but I fear for the day when Humans cross the line and push Therians too far. We're going to have enough to deal with fighting the Magicians, we won't be able to deal with a Therian revolt as well. So if you all need sanctuary from Humans, I'll be happy to grant it. The consequences are irrelevant. This is the right thing to do.”

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**Year 3114 PA. Spring Cycle One, Day One. 16:38 UST  
Fourth Heaven, Cloud Sixteen. Southdown Skyport Control Tower.**

There is an air of confusion within the control room, and the chorus of overlapping reports only adds to this chaos. A shortish, stocky man with crew-cut blond hair, hazel eyes and pencil moustache marches into the control room, wearing a forest green uniform and the command stripes of a General. An authoritative air radiates from him, permeating throughout the control room, and everyone falls silent. The General takes position in the heart of the room, and turns to a young man with large ginger fox ears.

“What's the situation, Agni?” The fox-eared man reviews a series of handwritten notes.

“We've lost contact with thirty-eight Cirrus-class outposts, including Armistice Station. One hundred fourteen Nimbus-class Defence platforms have also gone silent. All Extender probes sent out have failed to report anything back to us before dropping out of contact. We've also received automated SOS signals from Clouds Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Seventeen, Eighteen, Twenty-One and Twenty-Six. We launched two squadrons of Dirk-class Scout vessels, but we've had no contact from them either. Similar reports are coming in from Third, Fifth and Sixth Heavens as well.” The General pales.

“Third, Fifth and Sixth Heavens, and us as well. That's every Heaven bordering the Empty Sky. It has to be them... but why? I guess it doesn't matter. Lieutenant Agni; sound the War Alarm. Order all fleets to launch immediately, and inform all Heavens to prepare for imminent assault. The Magicians are declaring a new war.” Agni presses a large red button, and sirens all across Cloud Sixteen blare into life. As the lieutenant tries his radio however, he notices a lack of static.

“No good sir, we're being jammed!” The General has no chance to respond to this before a hulking warship drops into view, hovering over the Skyport with all weapons to bear. _Vishnu deliver us! It's the Trishula!_ The warship's cannons open fire with a ferocious barrage. The General watches in horror as the Skyport is erased, and a few seconds later; the control tower is consumed by flames as well.

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**Year 3114 PA. Spring Cycle One, Day One. 19:28 UST  
First Heaven, Cloud One. Isaiah Estate.**

Barrett and Roland stand at the edge of the Armistice Banquet, joined by another man. He appears to be little more than a teenager; 150cm tall, with sandy hair in tight curls and vibrant blue eyes. He carries the command stripes of an Air Commodore however, and has the strong presence of a military leader. When he speaks, his voice is deceptively deep, almost as much as Roland's.

“When you put it like that, there really isn't anything more that can be said. There is no hope in arguing with your instincts, and no point in it either. As much as I, and indeed everyone I should imagine, wish we could avoid another war; I believe that you are right. The actions of the Magicians simply do not add up. Not to a conclusion other than war at any rate. The Argo stands ready to assist you at any time, but I'm afraid I can't say anything for the rest of the Pleiades Fleet. Opinions of the War and of Therians vary quite drastically across the fleet. I can only speak for my own crew, whose feelings regarding Therians were a key factor in accepting their application to my ship, but for everyone else I cannot speak, I am afraid.” Barrett smiles faintly.

“That's quite alright, Air Commodore Young. Just knowing that the Argo stands on our side is enough for me, and all Therians will gladly welcome the sight of it. Even so, the battles will be much more devastating this time around. The Magicians know that the Humans sat out for most of the last war, fighting defensively if at all. They know that most of the fighting was left to me. They know about our Anti-Magic technology, and they know about the Taboos. There are no more surprises that we hold up our sleeves, while we are dangerously lacking in current intelligence on the Magicians' fleets, defences and abilities. As a result, the Magicians are in a much stronger position than we are. Right now might be the strongest position they will ever come to be in.” Roland turns to Barrett.

“So how long do you think we have to prepare?” Barrett is about to answer, when a familiar sound at the edge of his hearing range causes his white ears to twitch. He tilts his head, and catches the sound again. _I know that sound. It's the 120mm triple guns of a Charioteer-class Battlecruiser_. He unscrews the brass knob of his cane to reveal a small brass telescope, which Barrett extends. He sweeps the skies with the telescope until he sees the source of the sounds: a vaguely sword-shaped warship one hundred and twenty metres in length, with a deep mahogany coloured hull.

“They're already here. Cloud Three is under fire from a Charioteer-class. Based on the hull design, it can only be the Dáinsleif.” His companions don't have a chance to respond as Barrett twists the telescope's mount. A thin trigger and grip spring out about a third of the way down the cane, ejecting a strip of wood five centimetres long and four millimetres wide. The telescope slides down the opposite side of the cane, pushing out another strip of wood thirty centimetres long and five millimetres wide, where it becomes a kind of sniper scope. A thin bolt springs out at a right angle between the scope and the trigger, level with the far end of the scope, and sending a third strip of wood flying, its dimensions identical to the first. Barrett pulls the bolt, hearing a bullet being loaded, before raising the cane and holding it against his right shoulder. He looks through the scope as another volley of cannon fire triggers bright flashes, illuminating a somewhat streamlined airship despite its extensively jagged and angular frame. He lines up the reticle of his scope with a point just below the largest wing-like structure on the starboard side of the Dáinsleif. Barrett's middle tail shines with a pale golden light as he pulls the trigger, and a small disc of energy appears between the top of the cane and Barrett's shoulder, absorbing the recoil of the shot. A silvery barrier materializes around the Dáinsleif and ripples as the bullet strikes, but the shot pierces through to impact the hull, with little effect aside from a few sparks.

“Their shields and hulls are forty times stronger than they used to be. That's interesting.” Barrett pulls back on the bolt to load a second round, an empty bullet case ejecting along with a piece of rosewood five centimetres long and one centimetre wide. He takes aim again, and sees that the Dáinsleif is starting to move away from Cloud Three, its weapons falling silent. _No escape for you._ This time, Barrett's middle tail changes colour, becoming entirely golden, and it shines with a much stronger gold light. He pulls the trigger with an air-shaking boom, and the recoil knocks him back despite the shield protecting him. This second shot passes all the way through the Dáinsleif, and the warship is ripped apart by a chain of vicious explosions. A chorus of pounding footsteps draws Barrett's attention as a number of banquet attendees rushes towards him, having heard the gunshots. A small, elderly man, shorter than Air Commodore Young, leads the way. When the group comes to a stop, it is the tiny elder who speaks, with a strength that belies his age. 

“What in the Heavens is going on here? What is the meaning of this commotion?” Barrett ignores the disrespectful tone.

“Cloud Three was under fire from the Dáinsleif, _sir_. I have destroyed _that_ warship, but there will be others. If the Magicians have made it to the heart of First Heaven, then I dread to think what has happened to Third, Fourth, Fifth and Sixth Heavens. There have been no alarms raised. That means the Magicians attacked too quickly and too ferociously for the news to reach us. It is entirely possible that those four Heavens have already fallen to the Magicians.” The elder pales, looking confused and fearful in equal measure.

“Wh-what are you saying, Sky Marshal Inari?” Barrett holds the man's gaze and answers as patiently as he can.

“What I'm saying, Sky Marshal Amaterasu, is that the Magicians have declared war.” Amaterasu appears incapable of comprehending this response.

“Declared war? But that's impossible! They signed the Armistice Accords! They don't even have anything to go to war with!” Barrett's patience runs out at this point.

“How the fuck did you ever become a Sky Marshal? You just don't understand anything about the Magicians. You were warned about this possibility. Wing Commander Susanō tried to warn you that the Magicians were up to something, but you dismissed her report as little more than Shell-shock and paranoia. You ignored her instincts, and now innocent people are paying the price. How many lives have been lost because of your ignorance, I wonder? How many _more_ will be lost. No doubt there are still people dying as we speak. Thousands are likely to be dead by now, maybe even millions. All of their blood is on your hands. As the General of the Seven Heavens, you are responsible for the lives of everyone in the sky. You will be the one they direct their anger at, all because you let your petty fear of Therians cloud your judgement and blind you to the truth. The Magicians _are_ declaring war, of that I can assure you. Their shields and hulls are forty times stronger than they were two centuries ago. With that much fortification, even a warship like the Durandal will be enough to serve as a Flagship. Anti-Magic weapons are going to struggle against the improved warships. Even Taboos aren't guaranteed to be effective. Now is not the time for fear or hesitation however. Now is the time for you to take action. Mobilize the fleets, get our defence systems back up and running, and release the Therians to my command. _We_ will clean up _your_ mess. We always do. In the meantime, I'll be in the skies, where I belong. As the Guardian of the Seven Heavens, it's my duty to protect you all.”

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**Year 3114 PA. Spring Cycle One, Day One. 21:14 UST**  
**Area designation 8H-001 “Empty Sky”**  
**Magic vessel of Unknown Classification and Unknown Identification**

Azure crystals line the circular wall of the vaulted chamber, each one spaced out exactly 152.4 centimetres apart. A total of fifty crystals exist, their brilliance illuminating the chamber, and the gathering of black-robed figures within. There are two hundred people gathered, all facing a large obsidian crystal in the centre of the chamber, measuring three hundred centimetres tall, one hundred centimetres wide, and one hundred centimetres thick. A stern, authoritative voice rings out from this obsidian.

“You have all performed exceptionally, my children. The Humans have been caught off-guard by our assault. Many Clouds have fallen to our control, or else have been destroyed. They have put up even less resistance than we anticipated. However, we should not allow ourselves to become arrogant. The Dáinsleif has been shot down, by the so-called Guardian of the Seven Heavens. We must proceed with caution. Barrett has grown stronger over the years, more so than we calculated. If we underestimate him again, it could spell catastrophe for us all. We _must_ not fail this time around. We will not get another chance if we do. Therefore I am ordering all ships to fall back to the captured Clouds and maintain defensive positions. Hold on to those Clouds with everything you possess. The Humans will not mobilize their fleets just yet, so there is no chance of a major engagement. We need only maintain enough defences to repel the Therian Leader and thwart his every move. To that end, we will be utilizing our refitted Soldier-class fighters to their fullest capacity. Hound Barrett at every turn. Commanders Thrace and Zotai; I have specific orders for the two of you.” Two of the hooded figures step forwards.

“What are your orders, Your Excellency?” The voice rings from the obsidian without delay.

“Commander Thrace: you are to take the Gáe Bulg into Fourth Heaven. That is where we last sighted the Mobile Airfield known as the Goliath. We know it to be an ally of the Therians. It must be destroyed.” The hooded figure on the left bows.

“It will be done, Your Excellency.” The unseen speaker continues.

“Commander Zotai: you are to pull the Excalibur back here, to defend the Yasakani no Magatama. If the Guardian of the Seven Heavens finds and destroys this ship, we are lost. If the need should arise, you are to bait the Therian Leader into pursuing you. Lead him far away from here, but do not destroy him. We may yet have a need for him.” The hooded figure on the right hesitates for a heartbeat, before bowing.

“As you wish, Your Excellency.” The voice cries out from the obsidian once more.

“Glory to Arcana, and may the Seven Heavens burn!” The Magicians in the chamber all chant as one.

“Glory to Arcana! Glory to the fallen! Glory to Sage Velsa!”


End file.
